Chapter 117
Chapter 117
The air of the training ground froze.
The moment Ran’s left arm was severed at the shoulder, the faces of the spectators who witnessed it turned pale.
“”
“Has he gone mad… in that state…”
“It’s over. There’s no longer any—”
“No, wait…”
But it was different from what they expected.
Despite the wound gushing blood like a fountain, Ran Winterbell was rising again.
“That’s impossible…”
“He’s still standing?”
“That’s not human…”
The gamblers couldn’t close their gaping mouths.
Normally, they would have been restless, worrying about losing money, but now they were simply overwhelmed by the scene before their eyes.
From the noble seats, someone muttered,
“The blood of Halla… and the blood of Winterbell…”
“Is this where his true worth finally reveals itself?”
Blood continued to pour from his shoulder without stopping.
His black martial robe was being dyed crimson.
But only Ran’s gaze grew sharper.
The monstrous vitality created by the fusion of two bloodlines.
It was showing a new kind of existence that could not be stopped by mere wounds.
A stir arose among the gamblers.
What began as a small murmur gradually spread into greater agitation.
The faces of those who had placed their bets turned pale.
“That… is an unbelievable sight.”
A gambler whose throat tightened so much he couldn’t even speak properly.
The betting slip clutched in his hand trembled.
Now, the outcome of the match no longer mattered.
“The Winterbell brothers… both of them, even after losing their arms…”
One gambler muttered.
A battle that continued even after losing both arms.
Injuries that would have caused any normal human to faint from pain.
But the two brothers continued to fight as if they were nothing more than trivial scratches.
Someone blinked repeatedly, as if doubting their own eyes.
Even veteran gamblers who had spent their entire lives drifting between sword arenas and gambling dens had never seen such a sight.
The sound of glasses falling from their hands and shattering could be heard, but no one paid it any mind.
Such a battle had never been heard of, nor seen.
Not even in legends passed down for decades did such an extreme battle exist.
In the gamblers’ eyes, fear and awe intersected.
This was no longer a spectacle to wager money on and enjoy, but a moment where myth was being born.
A thought crossed their minds. They were witnessing a sight that could not be seen even with immeasurable wealth.
As that thought settled in, a shiver ran through their bodies.
The vassals of the Winterbell family watched the battle while holding their breath. On the faces of those loyal retainers who had served for hundreds of years, deep anguish was etched. Their hands gripped the armrests of their chairs with such force that they seemed ready to shatter.
One seasoned vassal muttered in a trembling voice,
“Is this the battle that will decide the future of our family…”
He had served the Winterbell family for decades.
From Arkan Winterbell’s youth until now.
He was one who had witnessed all the family’s glorious moments.
“The eldest and the youngest, one of them must…”
Another vassal’s voice followed.
Though he trailed off, everyone knew what he meant.
That one of them must die.
A desperate fight staking the survival of blood-related brothers.
This was the fate of the family.
But now, even they no longer knew whose side they should stand on.
Until now, it had been clear.
Supporting the perfect successor, Ryan, had been the obvious choice.
But now… everything had been twisted.
The once-perfect successor had been stained with madness.
The Ryan they knew was nowhere to be found.
The man once renowned for cold reason and flawless swordsmanship,
was now emitting nothing but frenzied killing intent.
Even after suffering a fatal wound where his arm had been severed, the fact that he showed not a single trace of pain meant he was no longer the Ryan Winterbell they knew.
The discarded youngest had become a monster.
The one who had once been half-crippled had now grown to the point of standing shoulder to shoulder with the greatest swordsmen of the family.
A wondrous being created by the blood of Winterbell and Halla.
His power was now surpassing the limits of humanity.
Deep conflict was etched across the faces of the vassals.
Their choice would determine the future of the family.
But at this very moment,
no one knew the right answer.
“Now, no one can deny it anymore. The youngest young master, once called the shame of Winterbell, no longer exists. That man, who stands shoulder to shoulder with the eldest using pure swordsmanship alone while his mana is sealed, is now undeniably a rightful candidate for the position of Patriarch.”
Rayven Helios, the head of the Helios Family, let out a deep sigh. Even he, who was called the strongest in the South, seemed overwhelmed by the scene before him.
It was the moment when the pride he had built over decades collapsed in an instant.
“Now… there’s no turning back.”
A sense of resignation lingered in his voice.
Ian’s defeat had been shocking, but what was unfolding before his eyes now went beyond that.
Brothers who displayed such power even with both arms severed.
This was no longer within the realm of humans.
Grief filled his eyes.
In the dignified gaze of the man called the Sun of the South, true helplessness seeped in for the first time.
Was this the true nature of Winterbell?
The blood of Winterbell that could display such power even after losing arms.
A force that transcended mere swordsmanship or technique.
The monstrous nature inherent in their very bloodline.
This was the true strength possessed by the strongest family of the North.
‘It’s clearly different from the Helios way of training. That isn’t something achieved through education. It’s a kind of instinct. The northern conquerors known as Winterbell—the blood running through them must naturally exhibit such tendencies.’
The Chancellor of the Empire observed the situation with cold eyes.
His insight, honed over decades of manipulating the political stage, seemed to catch something unusual in this situation.
“How strange…”
Deep suspicion was embedded in his mutter.
As someone who understood human nature better than anyone, he saw that the current situation was not natural.
He questioned Ryan’s frenzied state.
The heir of Winterbell, renowned for his perfection.
The man once called the embodiment of cold reason—why had he suddenly been consumed by madness like this?
Even after losing an arm, he showed not a single sign of pain.
That was beyond the realm of humans.
No matter how strong one’s mental fortitude, it was impossible to remain unaffected after such a fatal injury.
This was clearly unnatural.
The Chancellor’s sharp intuition sounded an alarm.
‘There’s definitely… something. It feels off.’
---
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound of my pounding heart echoed in my ears.
It felt as though my head was filled entirely with the sound of my heartbeat.
I couldn’t hear any noise around me.
Only the sound of my heart filled my body.
I raised my head and looked at my hand.
A hollow feeling.
It was a strange sensation, realizing that something that should be there was gone.
Right.
My arm had just been cut off.
But for some reason, I didn’t feel much pain.
It wasn’t anything particularly remarkable.
“……”
Back when I was Van Descartes, things like this had happened countless times. Losing an arm or a leg or two was nothing unusual.
Maybe that was why.
My blood was boiling.
A vision dyed entirely red.
The pounding sound filling my ears.
The surging bloodlust that kept rising without end.
All of it mixed together, drawing out a pleasant sense of exhilaration.
“Whew……”
It wasn’t like I had lost both arms, so what was the big deal?
My whole body was soaked in blood?
A person doesn’t die from something like this.
And the current me possessed a body so blessed that it couldn’t even be compared to when I was Van Descartes. The blessed body of Winterbell and the blood of the Halla Clan.
With both of those, what was there to fear?
I rose from my spot and quickly rolled my body, grabbing Behemoth with my remaining arm.
To begin with, I was ambidextrous.
If my right arm was gone, I used my left.
If my left arm was gone, I used my right.
And if both were gone……
I could just hold it in my mouth.
Isn’t that what it means to be a swordsman?
Well, if not, then whatever.
[You idiot. Did you lose an arm or did you hit your head? I kept telling you over and over to focus, and yet you still ended up like this!]
Mistakes happen in life.
Come on, don’t make such a big deal out of losing one arm.
It’s not like my head got cut off, right?
[Quit the nonsense and deal with that lunatic bastard. No matter how I think about it, there are too many unsettling things about him.]
You think so too?
Same here.
I’m starting to become certain now.
That guy… I don’t think he’s the real Ryan Winterbell.
Just like how I was the reincarnation of Van Descartes.
[…Save that for after this is over.]
Yeah.
First, I need to beat that bastard here.
[Do you think it’s possible?]
“Of course. It is.”
The smell of blood pierced my nose. Only now did I begin to hear the crowd’s cheers and gasps.
The heightened sensation activated all my senses.
Accelerate my body.
The blood throughout my body circulated rapidly, driving me forward with force.
“Whew.”
Kicking off the ground, I sprang forward and swung Behemoth at tremendous speed.
No—more precisely, I thrust.
Van Descartes Style.
“One-Point Thrust.”
Boom!
Behemoth shot forward like an awl and pierced through Ryan Winterbell’s shoulder.
“Hahaha! You stubborn bastard. You still have the strength to move? Good, struggle more. I’ll kill you right here.”
“That’s what I should be saying. Fake brother.”
Even with his shoulder pierced through, Ryan Winterbell didn’t flinch in the slightest. Instead, with beast-like reflexes, he pressed me.
Overbearing, fluid, and at times soft.
A bizarre sword dance, as if mixing the swordsmanship of Winterbell with that of other families, crashed down like waves.
Unlike before, I didn’t move my body much.
Minimal evasion.
If I had to take a hit, unless it was a fatal weak point, I focused on attacking rather than dodging.
With each exchange, the wounds on my body increased exponentially, but I didn’t care.
To others, I already looked no different from a blood-soaked Sword Demon.
Van Descartes Style.
“Two-Point Thrust.”
Boom! Boom!
This time, confusion appeared on Ryan Winterbell’s face.
“Three-Point Thrust.”
Boom! Boom! Boom!
“Four-Point Thrust.”
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
“Five-Point Thrust.”
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
“Six-Point Thrust.”
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
“Seven-Point Thrust.”
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Holes were pierced all over Ryan Winterbell’s body.
Van Descartes Style.
“Sword Break.”
Boom!
Behemoth and the sword Ryan Winterbell was holding were blown away at the same time. Seizing that moment, I prepared my final strike.
Martial King Ivaki Style.
“Straight Punch.”